The
Last Poem
After
so many years
The
day came
The
poet sat down to write
With
his pen in hand, he tried
Struggling
with his feelings
Trying
to remember the girl he loved
The
games he played as a kid
The
dreams he had for his life
And
the song he heard the night before
Still,
nothing inspired him
After
a thousand poems
A hundred
stories and books
He
did not know what to say
He
was just an empty vessel
Surrounded
by skin without a soul
At
that moment he set down the pen
And
the poet never wrote again
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